


it's a shame we're all dying

by sxldato



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: The First Avenger, Gen, Gore, Graphic descriptions of corpses, Graphic descriptions of vomiting, Hurt/Comfort, World War II, and rotting, and this is terrible, because I'm a terrible person, body horror probably, graphic descriptions of death, i think these tags cover everything, i used the graphic descriptions of violence tag for a reason, there is a lot of hurt and only some comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxldato/pseuds/sxldato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky feels more than a little guilty after he makes his first kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a shame we're all dying

**Author's Note:**

> this is so gross and i am so sorry  
> title is from Soldier's Poem by Muse  
> as always, comments/suggestions/whatever are welcome

Bucky saw the life go out of the man before the body even hit the ground. His expert marksmanship had earned the enemy soldier a shot right between the eyes, brains and blood splattering the ground as the bullet slammed in and out of his skull. Bucky didn’t think too much about it at the moment— the objective right now was to survive while eliminating as much of the opposing side as possible. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the fact that he’d just made his first kill.

Once he and the rest of the troops in the 107th infantry had returned to the army base, however, he had plenty of time to reflect on it. The idea that he’d taken someone’s life, despite the fact it had been someone who would have taken _his_ if given the chance, sent chills rippling down his spine. Nausea twisted in his gut and all he could think about was the man’s face as he fell, not even the slightest twinge of shock making it into his expression before the life faded from his eyes.

He couldn’t breathe. The world around him was spinning, the air was sharp and painful in his lungs, and there was an awful metallic taste in his mouth that only served to remind him of the way the man’s blood had met the yellowing grass, hideously dark against the pale ground.

“ _Barnes!_ "

He was on his knees a couple dozen yards away from the barracks. He’d meant to get inside, strip himself of his clothing that was tainted with the smell of bloodshed, but his body wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t stand, not even if a superior officer ordered him to, and the horrid taste in his mouth was getting unbearable.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe—

— like the man he’d shot. That man, who must still be lying out there on the battlefield, slowly rotting from the inside out. That man, who might have had a family waiting for him back home, who might have had children praying for their father to return safely, who would only be returned to his loved ones inside a casket because _Bucky put a bullet in his head._

There were tears running down his face and he was ashamed of himself. He shouldn’t be weeping for the loss of an enemy soldier, shouldn’t be giving it a second thought. But it was tearing him apart. They might have been the same age, might have both been enlisted; maybe that man didn’t want to be there, maybe he didn’t _want_ to die for that cause, and it hadn’t mattered. He’d died anyways.

Bucky couldn’t breathe.

"Hey!" There were people knelt in front of him, but he couldn’t focus on their faces. "Barnes, is everything okay? Are you hurt?"

He managed to shake his head.

"What’s the matter with him?"

"I think today was his first time out there."

A chorus of ‘ohhh’s echoed through the group of men, and Bucky expected to be teased or chastised for being so weak, but any remarks even remotely judgmental never came.

"It’s rough out there, alright. You must’ve hit somebody, huh?"

Right between the eyes. Brains and blood violently meeting the ground. The look on his face as the blood ran down the sides of his nose, the life that had been sapped from his body in less than a second—

Bucky lurched forward on a dry-heave, bracing himself upright in the dirt with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

"Woah, okay, okay— let’s give the fella some space." The quiet shuffling of feet indicated that yes, thank god, they were moving away, but they hadn’t left. There was a hand on his back, rubbing up and down, and a part of Bucky wanted to tell them to go away, he didn’t want them to see him like this, but another part was so shaken that he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone with his thoughts.

He’d killed him. That man was dead, and it was his fault.

His heart throbbed in his chest and his stomach was contracting with painful cramps. Bile crawled up his throat and he gagged, a stream of it splattering into the dirt below him.

The blood had painted the battlefield the same way, but quicker, because bullets were fast and there was no way you could take one back once it met its mark.

His stomach convulsed and he bit back a groan. His entire body was trembling, other people were watching him, and he felt absolutely terrible for so many reasons he’d probably need more than his set of fingers to count them all.

“Take some deep breaths, Sergeant,” the man next to him murmured. “It’s all gonna be fine.”

His insides gurgled and he uselessly wrapped an arm around his torso, as if that would help anything. He swallowed the urge to be sick again, but his gut did a slow, agonizing flip and he doubled over, choking up the contents of his stomach. He tried to suck in a breath and failed as another wave of nausea swept over him and he retched violently, vomit dribbling down his chin and joining the rest of the mess in front of him.

His body seemed to have an endless amount of things it wanted to rid itself of, and it only stopped for a minute or two. Even then, he was still gagging on air for a good while before he could sit up straight without jackknifing over himself another two seconds later. 

"I’ll be damned," someone remarked once Bucky sat back and wiped his mouth on his wrist, breathing heavily and still shaking like a leaf. "Didn’t think a guy could puke so much from battle fatigue."

"Shut up, Dum Dum," the man crouching beside Bucky snapped. After a moment, Bucky realized that it was Gabe Jones. "He’s all kinds of spooked and you’re not helping."

"I’m okay," Bucky croaked finally.

"What happened out there, Barnes?" Another man asked— Jim Morita.

"First time sniping at real people, you know?" Bucky managed. "The first guy I got… he was close enough so I could see his face when I hit him, and—and I couldn’t--" He swallowed a gag, trying to keep himself together. He closed his eyes for a moment and focused on stifling the lingering nausea that was sweeping over him. He hiccuped and covered his mouth with a shaking hand. “Shit …”

“You gotta just let it out; trying not to’s just gonna hurt you more.” Gabe’s hand was still on his spine, a gesture of comfort that Bucky was extremely grateful for. “I got you, it’s okay.”

Bucky groaned miserably and leaned over again, letting the excess saliva drip out of his mouth—he felt too weak to spit—before he vomited, stomach acid burning his throat and the taste of it making him retch again. He braced himself up on one of his hands once more, the other rubbing his stomach, and he could feel it gurgle and twist beneath his skin.

“Should I get a doctor or somethin’?”

“No,” Bucky said, fighting back the bile rising in his throat so he could speak. “Don’t—don’t leave me alone, _please_ —“

“We’re not going anywhere, Barnes, don’t worry.” They were closer now, no longer keeping their distance like they had at first, and Bucky honestly didn’t have the energy to care anymore.

He coughed once, twice, and then heaved what felt like all of his guts into the dirt.

“Jesus, _Jesus_ —“

“For the love of all that is good and holy, Dum Dum, be considerate and shut up,” Morita snapped. Bucky could have sworn he heard a fist meet someone’s shoulder and a muffled “fuck!” but he couldn’t be sure if it was real or not. Everything was spinning and he couldn’t concentrate on anything besides the fact that he’d taken someone’s life a mere five hours ago.

It didn’t stop until there was only bile left that bubbled and frothed where it met the ground, and by then Bucky was covered in a light sheen of sweat with tears running down his cheeks. He sat back, unsure if he was actually finished, and wiped the tears from his face with the sleeves of his ratty green sweater.

“You good?” Gabe asked.

Bucky shook his head. He wasn’t throwing up anymore, which was definitely an improvement, but his stomach was sore and his eyes were red from crying. Even more than that, he was still grieving the loss of an enemy soldier, which just wasn’t supposed to happen at all, ever.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

“… Okay.”

Getting to his feet was tough, but the others helped him stand and led him to one of the med tents where he could wash up and pull himself together. He sank down onto one of the empty cots and wiped his face with the wet towel that Morita handed to him, trying to ignore the incessant trembling in his fingers.

The fear in his chest wouldn’t dissipate despite the fact he was no longer in combat. Adrenaline surged through him, constricting his lungs. He draped the rag over the back of his neck and tried to breathe normally.

The three men gathered beside him, the extra weight causing the mattress to dip.

His eyes stung with the promise of more tears and he blinked them back as best he could.

“I feel so stupid,” he mumbled. “I’m not—I shouldn’t be this weak—“

“You’re not stupid,” Gabe said. “Or weak. War is gruesome; it can turn anybody’s stomach. Doesn’t make them less brave.”

Bucky’s lower lip trembled and he doubled over, putting his head on his knees so the others couldn’t see him completely fall apart. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—“

“What are you talking about, Barnes?” Morita asked, moving to kneel in front of Bucky. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

"Happens to the best of us," Dum Dum said, apparently having found a sliver of tact. "Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, either."

Bucky’s breathing was fast and shallow, but with the three of them providing so much comfort, he felt the anxiety and distress start to ebb away, only leaving him exhausted and upset.

“C’mon, get your head up. You can’t breathe good when you’re sitting like that.” Gabe helped Bucky straighten back up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, taking the cloth from the nape of Bucky’s neck and using it to wipe the tears from his face. “You’re alright, Sergeant.”

Giving into the overwhelming fatigue, Bucky rested his head on Gabe's shoulder and closed his eyes. He heard Gabe murmur something to the others, something he couldn't hear over the pounding in his brain, and then there were a series of footsteps that slowly faded out until it was silent.

"Where'd they go?" Bucky asked, his words sticking to the roof of his mouth.

"They're just gonna let the General know you're here so he doesn't worry."

"Is he gonna make me go home?" 

Gabe gave a short, dry laugh. "I doubt it."

"... I want to go home."

Gabe was silent for a long time, resuming rubbing Bucky's upper arm. Finally he said, rather crestfallen, "I think we all do."

That night, Bucky's mattress felt harder than it used to, and the blanket didn't help keep him warm. He stared up at the ceiling blankly, unable to keep himself from wondering when it would be his turn. 

When some nameless, faceless soldier pointed his gun at him and pulled the trigger.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> _Throw it all away_   
> _Let's lose ourselves_   
> _'Cause there's no one left for us to blame_   
> _It's a shame we're all dying_   
> _And do you think you deserve your freedom_


End file.
